


Teach You

by RisingPhoenix761



Series: Trade You [3]
Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: American Sign Language, Angst and Humor, Explicit Language, Gen, Negan Being Negan (Walking Dead), Truth or Dare
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-01
Updated: 2017-08-01
Packaged: 2018-12-09 10:35:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,144
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11667387
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RisingPhoenix761/pseuds/RisingPhoenix761
Summary: "We've got a little bit of a pickle here," he said, turning to the new number-one-priority...





	Teach You

**Author's Note:**

> Another record for this installment...the most research logged for such a short story. Don't quote me on the signs described here. I did my best, but if I got something wrong, sorry!

Negan stood in what used to be one of the main power rooms, or whatever the fuck you wanted to call it, back when this place used to be a working factory, staring at what had become the next number-one-priority, fix-this-fuck-up-fast-or-else problem. He pondered the various, highly inconvenient ramifications that would arise if the situation wasn't corrected ASAP, each more irksome and dire than the last, wondering what the fucking fuck was taking Simon so fucking long.

"Found her, boss."

About damn time.

He turned to his second-in-command approaching with a very tall, very thin woman who, judging by the dirt on her hands, had just come from the garden, and he grinned at her. "Wendy darling," he said, "are you ever a fine fucking sight for my tired old eyes."

She smiled and spread her hands in a gesture he interpreted as _what's up?_

"We've got a little bit of a pickle here," he told her, turning back to the new number-one-priority. The Sanctuary had electricity thanks to the big ass generators left over from its factory days, though they had only ever gotten two of the three to function properly and one of the two broke down awhile back. Given that the whole fucking place was running on just one power source, Negan was pretty much gobsmacked the last fucker hadn't bit the dust sooner, but it was still a nasty shock. He had been going over inventory reports in the comfort of his rooms when the desk fan in the corner had stopped running and Simon had appeared at his door two minutes later with the bad news. It was a problem, all right, and he tried to explain in as few words as possible. "You see, sweetheart, this massive fucking piece of shit machine here has been the lifeblood of our little community for quite some time now, it decided to cash in its fucking chips this morning, our former heavy machinery guy with the Napa-know-how made lunch meat of himself on a supply run awhile ago, and I hope with all my fucking heart that you've got what it takes to get this thing running again."

He saw Simon's eyes widen as if in surprise. It might be a stretch, but if the deaf chick could pull off something like redesigning the entire motherfucking garden to save their asses from starvation, he wasn't about to overlook her abilities dealing with the next crisis.

Judging by the look on her face, Wendy didn't seem to think he'd overestimated her. She focused on the generators, lined up one beside the other, walking between them with a thoughtful look on her face. She looked up at him, pointed at each generator, and spread her hands again.

Goddamn, it was a pain in the fucking ass trying to communicate. "This one, I think," he said, indicating the generator on the far left, "hasn't worked as long as we've been here. This one," pointing to the one on the far right, "gave up the fucking ghost a few months ago and hasn't been touched since. The one in the middle quit just this morning. Does that cover it?"

Wendy nodded, then went back to studying the generators.

Negan glanced over at Simon, who still looked surprised but also a bit curious. "Can she fix this?" he asked.

"I sure as fuck hope so," Negan replied. "I'm putting my money on her, just in case."

"Is she a mechanic, or something?"

"Shit, Simon, I have no fucking clue. When I met her, she was digging fucking stumps out of the garden."

"Wait, was _she_ the one who came up with that ditch and drain thing?"

"Bingo."

Simon's eyes widened again, this time looking impressed. "God _damn_ , boss..."

Negan grinned. "She's a fucking genius, my friend, as long as you can figure out talking to her."

Sure enough, Wendy was approaching again, miming that she needed pen and paper.

* * *

Negan ordered flashlights and candles everywhere in the Sanctuary for general convenience (any for personal use could be purchased with points) and Wendy spent the day at the generators. He couldn't make heads or tails of her scribbles and sketches, but she seemed to know what she was doing. Either that, or she was fucking phenomenal at faking it. Either way, he left her to it.

There was no solution by the end of the day and only the chicken scratch idea of a plan by the end of the next, and by then Negan appreciated more and more both Wendy's ingenuity and the ability to communicate with speech. Through paper when she had it and a whole lot of gestures when she didn't, she explained her plan to convert one of the generators: Like any old weather radio the banks would hand out as a free gift upon opening a new account, there would be a crank or lever that would be manually operated to generate and store power in a battery (at least, that's what he _thought_ she meant). At any rate, it would get enough shit juiced to start the generator, and as long as someone operated the lever periodically, it would—in theory—power the Sanctuary.

How in the holy motherfucking hell she was going to turn a big ass fucking engine into a goddamn windup toy was beyond him, but he didn't ask questions.

More supply runs, more shopping lists, as he had taken to calling them, and more hard ass work than he would have expected her to put in, and he had to admit she was well on her way. He made it a point to stop by at least once a day to check her progress and sometimes more often than that if he had nothing else to do, and he concluded that she wasn't just a really good bullshitter, but actually knew what the fuck she was doing. Not only that, but the entire project was that fucking _cool_.

His enthusiasm must have been plain on his face, because she started to take the time to explain shit to him, communicating as best she could how she was repurposing old parts, the function of the generator as it was and what she intended it to be, and how the finished project would operate and be repaired if the need arose. It wasn't until about day three that he noticed her signing shit as she explained it, demonstrating what her hands looked like to name a word as easily as he could have spoken it, and he thought that was pretty cool as well.

The Sanctuary had been dark for nearly a week when Wendy finally sought him out, the usual dirt smudges on her hands replaced with grease and an aura of calm excitement around her. She waved him along and he followed her to the generators, taking a moment to stop and examine her latest brain child. It looked just about the same, apart from a few panels removed to add new parts, and the crank itself, which looked a hell of a lot like the hand lever taken from a goose neck trailer to him.

She saw him looking and spread her arms in a ta-da gesture, then rested her hand on the crank, pointed to him, pulled her hands toward her body with curled fingers, then rolled her closed fists back toward him as if revving a motorcycle. _Do you want to try?_

He grinned, took the handle, and turned it. It took some effort to get it moving as the parts connected to the drive shaft went from inert to kinetic, but it wasn't too hard after the first few turns. He worked at it for about a minute until she motioned for him to stop, then she pointed to a switch nearby—good God, she'd rewired the fucking breaker, for fuck's sake—and he flipped it.

There was a shudder and a surge, and the generator started humming about two point five seconds before the lights hanging above their heads came on.

Negan looked from the lights to the generator in amazement. It was one thing to believe she could pull it off, but still took him by surprise that she actually did. "I swear to fucking God, Wendy darling," he said, "if I was stranded on a desert island with no hope of rescue, I'd want you right there with me to do this Mac-fucking-Gyver shit you do."

She smiled, then tapped her temple and spread her hands in that questioning gesture. _What do you think?_

"Honey, I think I could kiss you right now, you and this contraption of yours are that goddamn magnificent."

She laughed, then laughed some more when he took her hand and kissed it, bowing slightly like she was the goddamn fucking Queen of Sheba. "I also think I like talking to you without a pen and paper getting in the way," he added, "so if you don't think you'll be too busy with your new duties, maybe you'll teach me a little more of your hand speak." She looked confused and he said, "After your latest miracle, I'd have to be the village fucking idiot not to make you my new head engineer, sweetheart. Unless you'd rather stay out in the garden?"

She shook her head no. No, she wasn't to busy; no, she didn't mind teaching him; no, the garden would be fine without her.

* * *

As far as engineering duties went, Wendy didn't have much to keep her occupied yet. Negan gave her license to wander, looking all around the Sanctuary for something that could use improvement and bringing it to his attention. He went with her on a few of these rounds, and thus she was also able to fulfill her role as sign language instructor. He'd be damned if she wasn't a walking, talking Rosetta Stone program, the way she taught shit, and it was kinda cool having conversations no one apart from the two of them could understand, like a grade school club with secret languages and shit.

With juvenile enthusiasm—not that he'd call it that, if anyone asked—he picked up everything she showed him with more ease than all the other shit they tried to cram down his throat in school, and while he wouldn't call himself proficient yet, especially when she still had to sign extra-slow so he didn't miss anything, he didn't think he was doing half bad.

They were on her rounds as usual, and while he hadn't said a single word out loud yet, they were still in conversation, and he felt quite pleased with himself.

_Proper names can be tricky_ , she was explaining. _People are usually given sign names based on their traits or characteristics, so no one has to spell out the whole thing._

_What's yours?_ he asked.

She made the sign for "grow," the fingers of her right hand rising up and fanning out from behind her left. _Lifelong gardener_ , she added.

_Can I give you a name?_

_Of course._

_Okay,_ he signed, then made two A's with his hands over his heart, saying aloud, "Wendy darling."

She smiled and laughed.

_What's mine?_ he asked. "Is there one for sexy, arrogant asshole?"

_Several,_ she deadpanned, _but they're not suitable for daily use._

It was his turn to laugh. _Then I'll have to let you pick one._

She thought about it, then mimed a swinging motion, as if wielding a bat.

Well, he supposed he wouldn't need any other introduction than that, though having that particular characteristic be the first one she jumped on was a little chafing. Brilliant, resourceful, ever-helpful Wendy darling, and bat-toting thug Negan. He was fully fucking aware he was a brutish prick, the more so since the world ended, but shit. If she had the fucking gall to judge him for it, she could piss off.

_That's the first thought_ , she went on, _but I think this is better_. She folded her right hand over the fingers of her left and bobbed them twice, as if shaking someone's hand. _Leader,_ she spelled out _. You do what you must for your people. Like a leader should._

Wow. Talk about a one-fucking-eighty. He went from being irritated at what felt like an insult to unsure how to accept a compliment he wasn't that sure he deserved. Before he could stumble through a reply, though, she gave a playful smile and went on, _I think I'll call you something else, though_. She put her hand beneath her chin and wiggled her fingers, then indicated her lips.

Dirty mouth.

He burst out laughing. _Not fair_ , he signed. _You haven't taught me any dirty words._

She shrugged, still smiling, then dragged two fingers across her palm and drew a circle over her right shoulder. _Truth or dare?_

It was one of her methods, to play a game of some sort to teach him more words, and it was pretty fucking effective so far. _Truth_ , he replied.

_Aren't you hot in that jacket?_

_Did you just say I'm hot?_

She rolled her eyes at him and he answered, _Very. But it's part of the act, Wendy darling. Tough guys take the heat when others can't, and what have you._

She gave a nod of understanding.

_Truth or dare?_ he asked.

_Truth._

_What were you before?_

She smiled again and held up both hands, the tips of the thumbs touching with pinkies raised, then moved the right hand in a way that reminded him of a ratchet. Then she spelled, _Engineer_.

"No shit!" he burst out. "You're fucking with me!"

_It's the truth_ , she replied. _I went to school for it and everything._

"Trained _and_ certified!" he said. "Hot damn, doll, that's too fucking perfect!"

She kept smiling, then asked, _Truth or dare?_

_Dare._ Why the fuck not?

_Take off your jacket._

_You can think of something better than that._

_Take off your jacket._

She was wilier than that fucking coyote. He knew what she was up to, trying to get him to drop the act. On the other hand, it was hot as balls, so...why the fuck not? _You're not fooling me_ , he informed her, then slipped the leather off his shoulders. And he had to admit, the cooler air felt fucking _glorious. Your turn, sweetheart. Truth or dare?_

_Truth._

He gave a huge yawn of boredom. _You're killing me, Smalls. Make it exciting._

_Make your question exciting_.

"Challenge fucking accepted, Wendy darling." _What's the wildest place you've had sex?_ he signed, moving his right index finger through the circled fingers of his left hand.

Her look of pure fucking astonishment was priceless, her mouth falling open and her eyes widening in disbelief, and he wanted to laugh. He had never seen her so flabbergasted. _Are you serious?_

_You picked the game, not me_.

He thought she would refuse to answer, but after a thoughtful moment she started signing, spelling the words whenever she used a new sign. _Under the bleachers at a demolition derby. I was in college, and went with my boyfriend before semester started. I could feel the rumble of the arena through the ground, and the air was so hot it felt bottled. I was sure we were going to get caught, but_ She stopped, and her smile finished the sentence for her.

Negan stared at her for a minute. "Damn, girl," he said, "that's pretty fucking wild. I think I'd have my work cut out for me trying to top that."

She bowed with a flourish and laughed. _Truth or dare?_

_Truth._

_Why a baseball bat?_

He shrugged, glancing down at Lucille, as faithful as she ever was. _It was handy when I needed something to hit something else. The wire came along later._

_Handy?_

_I was a gym teacher_. She smiled and nodded slowly, seeming impressed. "You never would have guessed that one," he teased.

_I wouldn't have_ , she admitted. _How did that come about?_

"That's cheating," he chided. "It's my turn." _Truth or dare?_

She appeared to think for a moment, then replied, _Dare._

Well fuck, he hadn't actually seen that coming. He paused, unprepared and trying to think quickly, and she took the opportunity to tease him. _Come on, you can think of something._

"I can, doll, but given your tendency to blow my every fucking expectation right the fuck out of the fucking water, I'm trying to think of something really good."

_Don't worry, I can wait._

"Yeah, I'll fucking bet you can." He stood thinking about it some more, then said, "I reserve the right to cash in one dare later. Fair?"

She shrugged her compliance.

"Your turn."

_Truth or dare?_

_Truth._

_What was your life before all this?_

_Gym teacher, coach, lifelong dirty mouth._

_Coach? Baseball?_

"Ping-pong."

She laughed again. _I'll have to play you sometime._

"You'll fucking lose, Wendy darling. Don't do that to yourself."

_Maybe I want to_.

"I never pegged you for a masochist."

_You never pegged me for a lot of things._

"Touché." _You know, I've made myself comfortable in this world, probably more so than in the old, but I honestly miss working with those kids._

_Did you ever have any?_

_Not that I know of._

He stopped, surprised at his own answer. True, none of his wives were knocked up, and he and Lucille never had children, but damn, he sure liked to fuck. And he wasn't always careful about it, either. What if one of his affairs _had_ created a child, and he had no idea? He could have been a father this whole fucking time and never known, and he'd likely never fucking know, the way things were now. And yet, the only woman he'd ever even wanted kids with was gone, and he'd been too busy sticking his dick in anything soft to love her as he should have, the way she fucking _deserved,_ goddamn it. He hadn't lied, he had made himself pretty fucking cozy in this new world, but wasn't that just a means to deal with what he had lost with the old one?

His grip tightened on the baseball bat, a shitty substitute for the namesake he thought he'd lost his fucking mind without. Thought? No, he fucking _had_ , and _there_ was some truth for you, ladies and gents. "Sorry to cut this short, sweetheart, but I gotta run. I'll let you get back to work." He moved to leave, then turned back and said, "Teach me some dirty words, and I'll teach you ping-pong."

_Is that a dare?_ she asked.

"It's a fair fucking trade, the way I see it." He gave Wendy a final nod and set off, bat over his shoulder, looking for one of his men or one of his women, something from the new world to pull him back from memories of the old.


End file.
